


Strokes in Lavender

by CoffeeColoredMornings



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, really that's it, slight mention of Jihan, soft hand job, that's the fic, very minor dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeColoredMornings/pseuds/CoffeeColoredMornings
Summary: Someone keeps stealing Jihoon's lotion and Jihoon is dead set on catching the thief.Entry for the You Made My Summer Fest.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104
Collections: You Made My Summer Fest





	Strokes in Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> To the lovely prompter,
> 
> I really hope you like this. It's not 100% exact, but I really tried my best to meet this prompt. I will admit to going outside my comfort zone in terms of style and genre of writing. I don't typically write things of a more comedic or light-hearted nature (and when I do, my self-doubt is high), so I really do hope this is enjoyable and brings a happy note to your day.
> 
> As soon as I saw the prompt, I could only think of underwear (and lotion) thief Seungcheol. Then my mind jumped to the concept of 'soft handjobs' and here we are.
> 
> **
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> Person A is always stealing Person B's lotions who notices that Person A's hands are gradually getting softer.
> 
> "I always forget to put lotion on my hands, but I never forget to jack off. So I figured that I'd be able to kill two birds with one stone. Plus it makes my dick and hands soft at the same time."

Jihoon’s lotion is in the kitchen. The soft lavender tube is compressed thin at the top, clear evidence that it’s been well used. Which is odd, Jihoon thinks, seeing as he’s only used it four times within the past two weeks. Even odder is the fact that the kitchen is _not_ where Jihoon last left his lotion.

He picks it up and notes the distinct lack of weight in his hands. There’s no one else in the room—no culprit for Jihoon to pin the theft of his favorite lotion on; the dorm, for once, is quiet with everyone sleeping. Granted, it is six in the morning with dawn an hour off, but still, Jihoon would like someone to point at, someone to eyeball until they cave under his glare because this is his _favorite_ lotion and it’s not _cheap_ and he hasn’t even had it for three weeks and it’s nearly _gone_.

Ignoring the fact that he’s going to need to buy more online soon—fuck the 16 ounces, he’s willing to cash out for the 32 ounces at this point, he pops the cap on the tube, pouring a small coin size dollop into the palm of his hand. The smell diffuses into the air and his skin immediately, a mild, inoffensive floral scent; he pays special attention to the skin between his thumb and forefinger and the center of his palm, made dry by long days spent in his cold studio and overuse of hand sanitizer.

Jihoon claps his hands once more, skin soft and sound loud in the dark kitchen. Taking the nearly empty tube of lotion with him, he trails down the dark hallway, fingertips grazing along the walls. He doesn’t need the guiding touch, having spent too many late nights in the studio only to return to the dorms when all lights are off to not know how to navigate through the dorm sans light. But the gesture is a habit, the familiar bump of his fingertips of the subtle unevenness of their walls.

The walk to their shared bathroom is short. Jihoon washes his face and goes about his bedtime routine with heavy limbs. Though the world is growing fuzzy at the edges, Jihoon takes a mental picture of the lotion as he puts it away—tucked neatly into the front right corner of a small blue cubby underneath the bathroom sink. It’s where he always puts it, it’s the lotion’s _spot_.

Shutting the cabinet with a light snick, he flicks the bathroom light off and shuffles to his room. He curls into bed, hands curled against his chin with the gentle scent of lavender nudging at his senses. He falls asleep with the lingering thoughts of catching his lotion thief and the different ways he can threaten them.

* * *

Three days later and his lotion is not in the small blue cubby underneath the bathroom sink, nor is it in the kitchen, laundry room, or tucked deeply into the couch cushions in the living room.

Mingyu is easy to corner, being Jihoon’s roommate.

It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday in March. They have no schedule, so Jihoon’s in his room, tucked above his comforter, fingers flicking mindlessly at a racing game on his phone. Mingyu ambles into their room without a care in the world, the smells of a late lunch following after him until he shuts the door.

Jihoon doesn’t move, his fingers keep flicking across his phone screen, ignoring the shattered glass in the lower right corner, ignoring the beginnings of a dry patch of skin between his thumb and index finger. Mingyu’s slippers thump mutedly against their floor as he slides out of them, body coiled to jump into his elevated bed.

The only warning Jihoon gives is the creak of his bed as he launches himself from his mattress; his feet hit the cold wooden floor with a slight stumble, but he uses this as forwarding momentum and barrels into Mingyu.

Mingyu’s stressed yelp pitches high into the quiet of their room, his shattered, “what the fuck, hyung?” hitting against the narrow space between their beds. He’s hunkered down against the metal ladder of his bed, eyes squeezed shut at the feel of Jihoon’s hands bunched tightly into the starch blue of his shirt.

Jihoon doesn’t tower over Mingyu so much as he stands a bit more at face-level, but he puts his weight against the younger man—leveraging muscle mass gained from daily sessions in the gym. He shakes Mingyu once, cutting off the beginnings of a whine.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” Jihoon says through gritted teeth, “Did you take my lotion?”

“Your what?” Mingyu opens his eyes now, staring at Jihoon with wide eyes.

“My lotion,” Jihoon grunts. “It’s in a purple bottle, smells a bit like lavender. You know the one.”

“The one in the blue cubby under the bathroom sink?”

“Yes,” Jihoon hisses. “It’s missing.”

Mingyu’s mouth twitches. His lips are parted in a shocked gape, but the corners are curling, the edges of his mouth fighting off the beginnings of a smile.

“Don’t you dare laugh. Did you take my fucking lotion or not, Mingyu?” He shakes him once more for good measure, a warning shake.

Mingyu seems to pick up on the warning, the threat of violence undercutting the gesture because his expression sobers, lips pressing into a thin line. “I swear I didn’t take it, hyung.” Mingyu sighs when Jihoon only narrows his eyes in response. “I have my own,” Mingyu points to his open closet, a little wire basket full of cosmetics with a lurid orange bottle sitting pride of the place. “Orange blossoms.”

Jihoon releases his grip on Mingyu’s shirt, a sigh punching past his lips as he takes a couple of steps back from his cornered groupmate.

“Sorry,” Jihoon gets out. He feels the muscles in his jaw jerk, the oncoming tightness at his temples signaling a headache.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says. He’s still huddled against the metal ladder of his bed, but his posture is relaxed, limbs wrapping lackadaisically around the rungs.

“Any idea who may have taken it?”

Mingyu shrugs, but his brows narrow in thought, gaze fixed just to the left of Jihoon’s ear as he thinks. “I—I can’t remember seeing anyone using it recently.”

“Of course,” Jihoon says. By the point, he’s breathing in exasperation, every breath tinged with mild frustration and incredulity.

“B-but I can help you find who took it?” Mingyu looks at him in earnest, brown eyes wide and bright. “Someone used to steal my lotion too, a few months back, but then they suddenly stopped. I’m guessing that when your lotion started disappearing?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Cool, then I’ll help,” Mingyu says. He stands up and offers his hand to Jihoon to shake as if they’re entering some somber pack and not just trying to find a lotion thief. “We’re just looking for someone with soft hands that smell like lavender.”

Jihoon takes Mingyu’s hand, grip firm, and shakes once. “Or we’re looking for the dumbass who actually _has_ the lotion bottle.”

Mingyu’s expression falters, mouth pouting and brows wrinkling. “Yeah, that—that too.”

* * *

“Cross Jun off the list,” Mingyu says as he settles onto the couch in Jihoon’s studio. “His hands are dry as hell. There’s no way he’s using your lotion. He should though, maybe I should give him my discount...”

The overhead lights are off, only the blue neon strips and the redlight sign claiming the space as ‘Woozi’s Room’ offering any illumination. Mingyu’s face is cast in a purple glow, a self-satisfied smile curling his lips and he unloads grocery bags of convenience store food and snacks onto the low table.

Jihoon doesn’t respond, pays attention to the minute twitches of muscle in his index finger as he clicks save on his work. There’s a headache building behind his eyes. Possibly it’s due to insufficient lighting and staring at his monitor’s screen until his eyes go blurry. Possibly it’s because over the past two weeks he’s had to cash out on a new bottle of lotion because his old bottle is still nowhere to be found and he and Mingyu are no closer to finding the lotion thief than they are proving the existence of the Yeti. 

Rolling away from his desk, he flicks the Notes application open on his phone and strikes through Jun’s name. They’ve made minimal progress. They’ve determined it’s not Seungkwan—he’s better stocked than the stores they buy from, or Soonyoung—he steals from Seungkwan; Vernon, Wonwoo, and now apparently Jun don’t use lotion on the regular—much to Mingyu’s horror (and maybe Jihoon’s too), but that still leaves six eligible lotion thieves amongst their members.

“Here.” Mingyu plunks a bottle of Coke in front of Jihoon, condensation clinging to the plastic bottle. “Drink this. You look ready to murder.”

“I am ready to murder,” Jihoon grunts, but he takes small satisfaction in the hiss when he twists the cap off his Coke, the refreshing zing of flavors bubbling on his tongue.

“I think we can cross Jeonghan and Jisoo off,” Jihoon sighs. He drags a few plastic-wrapped triangle kimbap his way. Ignoring the flavor, he shreds the wrapper on the one closest to him and bites into it. It isn’t until he registers the ingredients of tuna and mayo that he speaks, mouth considerably less full. “They’re not the type and I’m pretty sure they both have their own lotion. Minghao probably didn’t steal it either.”

“That still leaves six members. And I wouldn’t be too quick to remove Minghao from that list—he can be shady.”

Jihoon levels Mingyu with a glare, slightly tinged with creeping exhaustion, both from their current predicament and the long hours already spent in his studio. “You said the same thing about Seungkwan.”

“And I was right!”

“No, you weren’t. We literally just went over this, Mingyu—what the fuck?” Jihoon slumps back against his desk chair, only just resisting the urge to brain himself against his desk. He settles with rubbing at his temples and wonders for just a moment if he’s overreacting. So what’s a few missing lotion bottles in the scheme of things?

It’s more than lotion though, Jihoon knows the true issue isn’t the absence of the material thing as much as it’s the disrespect behind the action. What sort of person takes someone else's things without asking or offering due compensation?

“I still think I’m going to stake out Minghao tonight,” Mingyu says into the settled silence.

Jihoon sighs, ignoring the building pressure behind his eyes. “Go for it, Gyu.”

* * *

It’s late. Jihoon knows it’s late by the fuzziness in his eyes, an itchy film that finds no reprieve even when he closes them; the back of his eyelids are streaked in a grid of gray, filled in with colored segments in staggered levels much like the music program he’s been staring at for the last seven hours.

It’s late enough that time feels irrelevant and his head floats in a detached reality as he stretches. Fingertips reach for the neon illuminated ceiling and his studio fragments around him: low seating couch and table, lit sign in glowing red, dual monitors desk casting a dull blue glow on a cluttered with silly knick-knacks, and his half-empty bottle of lotion nestled in between a Groot bobblehead and a speaker.

Slumping back in his seat, Jihoon eyes the lotion. There’s no intent to use it—not that he can’t use it, he _can_ and _should_ since his hands feel as brittle as leaves left to dry. But the longer he stares at the bottle, an ashen gray in the dim lighting, the more he comes to resent it.

The digital numbers on his computer tick into 4 a.m. and Jihoon reasons there’s no better time to resent his lotion. He resents that he has to bring it everywhere he goes to prevent its theft, resents that it's so damn soothing with its mild lavender scent that it’s become a commodity worth stealing (and buying again, but this time, _in bulk_ ).

Jihoon’s eyes blur into a muddied purple and his head tips in a rush of vertigo. The door to his studio opens with a soft snick, a calm prelude before a mop of unruly black hair pokes through.

“I figured I’d find you here,” Seungcheol says by way of greeting.

Jihoon grunts and squeezes his eyes closed, teeth clenched to regain some sense of equilibrium.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, hisses a sigh through his teeth. “Mingyu brought me some food.” He doesn’t bother telling Seungcheol that Mingyu came by closer to lunch than dinner.

Seungcheol nods and flops down on the couch, bag thumping to the ground. “Have you slept?”

“I’ve been working.”

“So no on sleeping. When was your last break?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer, just stares with stubborn exhaustion as Seungcheol rifles through his bag.

“I brought you some water and a granola bar,” Seungcheol says, spilling more items from his bag as he works on bringing the food and drink out. “I know you’d prefer soda, but you really drink too much of that shit and it’s late.”

Jihoon’s mind feels like a jumble of cotton. He stares with a detached absentmindedness as crumples receipt and empty snack wrappers tumble onto the floor of his studio.

“Got the water,” Seungcheol grunts, shaking his bag further in search of the seemingly elusive granola bar.

A familiar shape and light purple colors bring further awareness to Jihoon. He watches with growing concentration as a few wrinkled wons spill out of Seungcheol’s bag, then he sees it once more. Tucked into the depths of Seungcheol’s bag is something Jihoon’s intimately familiar with.

He waits for a few more moments and catches another glimpse at the unmistakable sight of his lotion bottle— _his lotion bottle_ —nearly pressed thin in the confines of Seungcheol’s bag.

Energy snaps into his being and he jerks himself forward, grabbing Seungcheol’s arm. “You! You’ve been stealing my fucking lotion? Are you kidding me? Was my underwear not enough?”

“I stole your underwear?”

“Yes, and you stole my fucking lotion too!”

“It smells good?” Seungcheol says, voice raising in question most likely in some instinctive way to calm Jihoon. But, then he cocks his brow, a haughty raise to match the sudden smirk on his lips. “Plus, it makes my hands soft as hell. And other things too.”

“Other things?”

“Yeah, my dick is soft as fuck too. I always forget to put lotion on my hands, but I never forget to jack off. So I figured that I'd be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

“No, no,” Jihoon says, shaking his head in hard denial as if the simple word has the power to bend the reality behind Seungcheol’s words. “No, nope.”

It’s not like they haven’t talked about these things—you can’t live together for as long as they have and not talk about these things or experiment with these things (or inadvertently walk in on these things—sometimes Jihoon still has issues looking Jeonghan and Jisoo in the eyes). But it’s another matter entirely to know your best friend not only masturbates but steals and uses your lotion to do it.

“Come on, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol smirks, “You’re trying to tell me you haven’t used your lotion when jacking off?”

“Why do you need to know this?”

“I don’t, not really.” Seungcheol spreads across the couch, arms braced wide and legs spread, pulling the dark material of his sweatpants tight across his thighs. “But now I can’t help wondering. What do you use when you masturbate? Lube? Spit? Surely not just precome, that’s rough as fuck in the beginning.”

Jihoon stares at his Woozi’s Room sign, hoping the red glow it casts masks the burning he can feel in his face. He resolutely does not look at a smirking Seungcheol, stretch wide and proud on his couch.

“We are not having this conversation.”

“What other conversation should we be having at four in the morning?”

“One where I call you out for stealing my lotion and threaten you if you ever do it again.”

“And I feel threatened,” Seungcheol says, leaning forward further into Jihoon’s space. “Truly. But I still want to know if you’ve ever used your lotion on any other part of you than your hands.”

“Sometimes my knees and elbows get dry.”

“Cute, but not what I’m fishing for.”

“Why are you fishing in the first place?!”

“Why are you so flustered, Hoonie? It’s not like we haven’t discussed this shit before.” Seungcheol stands, figure tall and broad, casting a shadow over Jihoon’s seated position. Jihoon feels his breath stutter as Seungcheol leans in closer, plush lips parted and gaze dark and mercurial. “It’s not like we haven’t helped each other before.”

“That was a while ago,” Jihoon breathes. He feels the heat of Seungcheol’s skin almost as if it were his own. When he swallows, it’s with a dry click. Memories of heated breath and rushed touches indenting his skin flicker through his mind, stolen moments in between schedules taken to release pent up frustration, to taste just a few moments of all-encompassing pleasure. “That was a while ago,” Jihoon repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol pulls back, just far enough to kneel in front of Jihoon. “For you maybe.” Seungcheol places his palms over Jihoon’s thighs, not too far up, but intimate and firm enough in pressure to have Jihooon’s stomach knotting. “Some of us don’t throw ourselves into work so completely that we forget about things like pleasure, like human touch.”

Jihoon doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have the words to address Seungcheol’s question or accusation, doesn’t have the breath or fortitude to look him in the eyes at this moment. The muscles in his thigh jump as Seungcheol slowly draws them up, a constant source of heat and pressure.

“When was the last time you touched yourself? That you let yourself have this type of outlet?”

“I-it’s been a while,” Jihoon finally answers after a moment passes. A while is an understatement. Four months is more accurate. Jihoon is not pressed enough to count the days, rather feels the absence of release in the hollowness in his chest, in too many nights spent alone, in frequent headaches, and skin too tightly stretched across bone.

Seungcheol’s thumbs rub small circles into his inner thighs, doe-eye dark and heavy as they focus on the downturn of Jihoon’s face. The neon lights buzz faintly around them. Seungcheol leans in closer and Jihoon can smell the faint musk of his cologne, clean sweat, and the barest traces of lavender.

“Do you want to?” Seungcheol husks the words against his right ear, nose gently bumping at the sensitive spot just below his ear—a spot they discovered years ago together. Jihoon’s gut clenches. “Do you want an outlet, Jihoon?”

Jihoon takes a deep breath, fills his lungs on Seungcheol. _Does he?_ It’s such a simple question. Does he want an outlet—want the touch of his best friend, of his hyung; does he want to press into the palms bleeding heat into the bare skin of his thighs, does he want to feel Seungcheol's mouth sucking on his skin, at the spot just beneath his ear.

Jihoon tilts his head just enough so their lips are brushing. God does he _want_. “Yes,” he breathes. There’s no need to surge forward like Jihoon does, but he can’t help the desire to take what’s freely being given to him.

Their mouths connect something fierce and immediate, Jihoon opening to Seungcheol’s advances with a chesty whine. He can feel the leather of his armrests digging under his nails. Seungcheol sucks on his tongue, just enough to draw another whine from Jihoon, enough for Jihoon to feel himself hardening.

The older pulls back, trailing fervent kisses along the cut of Jihoon’s jaw. There is no hesitation when Jihoon tilts his head back, baring the skin of his neck for Seungcheol path to remain uninterrupted.

Seungcheol smirks against his skin, nipping the pale flesh with a quick sting of teeth. “I got you, baby. Just let yourself go, yeah?”

Seungcheol nuzzles forward for the briefest of moments, a soft press of lips against his pulse point, then he’s biting down—mouth wicked in its intent to suck pleasure to the surface of skin, to bruise.

A moan rips out of Jihoon. He lets go of his grip of his armrest and buries a hand in Seungcheol’s hair, pulling at his nape to bring him closer. He arches into his hands, feels them curve along his inner thighs, fingertips just sneaking past the edges of his shorts and stroking the skin hidden underneath.

Seungcheol gives one last squeeze to his thighs before shifting his grip to Jihoon’s hips. Then he’s lifting and Jihoon is yelping and clinging to Seungcheol’s shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist as Seungcheool moves them back to the couch.

“You ass,” Jihoon grunts, settling his weight on Seungcheol’s lap. “You could’ve fucking warned me.”

Seungcheol hums against his skin, face buried in the junction of his neck where he’s laying open-mouthed kisses. “Then I’d be denied your cute little sounds.”

“I screamed.”

“Still made my dick hard.”

Jihoon groans and fists Seungcheol’s hair, bringing his mouth back to his own. He nibbles and pulls on Seungcheol’s lower lip, swiping his tongue out in a soothing gesture to ease the sting. “You’re being a shit outlet.”

Seungcheol laughs in his mouth but doesn’t reply. Instead he draws Jihoon closer, licks across the roof of his mouth, trails his hands from hips to grab fistfuls of Jihoon’s plump ass.

The rocking motion Jihoon picks up is instinctual, a slow grinding of their hips bringing twin moans from their mouths as their cocks finally meet, rubbing together in sweet friction through layers of fabric.

“There you go, baby,” Seungcheol rumbles. He squeezes Jihoon’s ass, pushing the younger’s hips down to meet his own in a controlled thrust. “Fuck Jihoon. Gonna eat you out one day, gonna fucking hold you down until you’re coming on my tongue.”

Jihoon moans at the thought, cock twitching in the confines of his shorts and he knows he’s leaking, can feel the gathering wet patch of arousal in his underwear. He moves one hand from Seungcheol’s shoulder to his hair, pulling just slightly for purchase.

“You’d like that, right, Jihoonie?” Seungcheol's voice is a scrape of dark honey against Jihoon’s ear.

“Yes,” Jihoon gasps, arching into Seungcheol touch, wanting nothing more than more contact, more skin, more pressure against his aching cock—just _more_. “Fuck, yes. Seungcheol, _please_.”

“Please what?”

“Just—just fucking touch me. I want to come,” Jihoon whines and punctuates the statement with a harsh roll of his hips.

Seungcheol groans, the vibrations just barely hitting Jihoon’s lips where they’re pressed so close. “Get the lotion from my bag.”

Jihoon doesn’t question him, he reaches back blindly until he feels the familiar shape of the bottle in his hands and hands it back to Seungcheol.

No time is wasted in pulling them both out of the pants. Seungcheol pours a generous amount of lotion into his palm, throwing the near-empty bottle on the couch next to them, then grabbing both of their flushed cocks in a firm grip.

The friction is slick and divine. Jihoon rolls his hips in minute twitches and presses his forehead to Seungcheol’s shoulder. The space between them is filled with Jihoon’s mewls and the occasional answering groan from Seungcheol, their lengths rubbing together with lewd squelches. 

The scent of lavender is thick in the air—it’s all Jihoon can breathe in. Seungcheol nudges their lips together and then Jihoon is breathing in his light noises on each upstroke of his wrist.

Pleasure pulses low and grips tight in Jihoon’s gut. He won’t last long, too touch starved and drowning in the slick, snug grip of Seungcheol’s hand, the plush give of his lips, the smell of lavender and sweat and musk.

It only takes a few more strokes and special attention to the head of his cock before Jihoon is moaning in sharp staccato relief, hips pushing against Seungcheol as he spills between them.

Seungcheol jerks him through his orgasm, letting Jihoon float in a hazy headspace when he releases his softening cock. It only takes a few more minutes, enough time for Jihoon to gain some of his bearings and his breath back, before Seungcheol twitches against him and Jihoon swallows his groan as he too finally comes.

They lay there for a few moments, breathing each other's air. A mess of lotion and come settled between them, but just for this moment Jihoon cannot find it in himself to care, mind, and body to buzzes with a molasses thick afterglow.

“Now do you get it?” Seungcheol asks, disrupting their silence.

Jihoon hums in question, laying his head down on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“Now do you get why I steal your lotion?”

Jihoon’s sharp ‘fuck you’ is accompanied by a harsh jab to Seungcheol’s side. Seungcheol laughs, too boisterous for nearly five in the morning, and rolls Jihoon onto the couch.

They say nothing as Seungcheol grabs a few tissues from Jihoon’s desk and cleans them up. The air is settled and content. Jihoon breathes deep, catches the lavender in his lungs, and is silently grateful that his last order of lotion was in bulk.


End file.
